Love, Me
by Chocolate Sponge
Summary: In an attempt to help his father come to terms with Hester's death, Frasier suggests that he write down his feelings about it.


**Hello everyone! While I write the first few chapters of my upcoming multi-chapter, I thought I'd post this one-shot as my first official post in the Frasier FFN fandom. From what I've seen of the authors of this fandom, they all look really nice and gifted. As a result, I look forward to joining you all!**

 **Recommended playlist for this one-shot (you can shuffle this playlist if you want; order doesn't matter): Love, Me - Collin Raye (the song that inspired this one-shot)**

 **Remember When - Alan Jackson**

 **Lifetime - George Canyon**

 **Carrying Your Love With Me - George Strait**

 **The Strongest Man in the World - Neal McCoy**

 **I'll Wait for You - Joe Nichols**

 **How Do I Live - Trisha Yearwood**

* * *

Frasier sat on the couch in his father's living room, absentmindedly twirling a stirring straw between his fingers. The coffee in front of him sat untouched, as it had for the past twenty minutes. Despite his usual love for coffee, he just wasn't feeling it today.

His eyes drifted up to rest on his father, who was sitting silently in his old green and brown recliner. Martin Crane's eyes were awash with grief; that same grief had gone on to spread outwards from his eyes, consuming him entirely until it left him slumped over in a chair, staring at nothing.

Just days before, the Cranes had lost their matriarch, Hester, to lung cancer. Although Martin and his two boys had been expecting her death, it still hurt. It felt like someone had ripped their hearts out, smashed them with a hammer, and then put them back in again.

Hester had been the glue of their family. Her steadiness, her love, and her wit had kept her husband and two sons, who otherwise would have torn each other apart over their differences, at peace. She had taught those closest to her many valuable lessons about love and respect, time and time again. Of course, she had her faults as every living person did, but she still managed to be just about perfect in the eyes of her family.

And now she was gone.

The silence between father and son seemed to stretch on endlessly. On the day Hester died, one of the first concerns to come to Frasier's mind was in regards to his, Niles, and Martin's ability to get along without her.

And already they were crumbling.

Setting the stirring straw in his coffee as it should be, Frasier rubbed his hands together. "So, uh, Dad," he began. "I've been thinking, you know, and-"

His dad cut him off. "If you're going to start spouting some shrink bullshit about how I need to open up and talk about my feelings, you might as well forget it. That's never worked for me before and it sure as hell isn't going to work for me now, so just forget it."

"Dad I-"

"I said forget it!" he repeated, his voice rising to a yell. He shot up from his recliner and started toward the stairs. "You psychiatrists always try to drag everything out so we can talk about it, and frankly I don't see any point in it."

Frasier followed him. "Dad, wait. I'm not trying to get up in your business. Try to understand, please. Mom's death has been hard on us all. I know you're struggling to cope. Maybe you should-"

He spun around to face his eldest son, his eyes alight with a sudden anger. "I should what? Move on? Well, guess what, Frasier? It's not that easy. Maybe it is for you but it's not for me. Your mother was an incredible woman, and I'm not about to go moving on from her six days after she-" He stopped, swallowing hard. Shaking his head, he finished, "I won't do it, Frasier. I can't."

Tears were beginning to work their way into Frasier's eyes. "I wasn't going to suggest that, Dad. I'd never dream of it. I was going to suggest that you write down what you're thinking. It's helped me."

"Oh." A fleeting look of guilt worked its way into Martin's eyes for a moment. He turned away again. "Well, maybe its worked for you, but it won't for me."

"Dad-"

He held up his hand. "I think you should go, Fras."

The psychiatrist went to say more, but found that he had nothing more to say. "Alright, Dad," he said softly.

Martin Crane made his way up the stairs and into his and Hester's bedroom. He hadn't slept in the bed since his wife had gone to the hospital, not wanting to mess up her last piece of work. Tears dotted his eyes as he thought of how, just two weeks before, he and his wife had settled in that bed together for the last time.

He walked slowly over to their dresser. On it were many pictures from various times in their lives. There was one of him and her when they'd been dating, shortly before he'd asked her to marry him. One of her, Martin, and baby Frasier. Hester the night of Frasier's marriage to Lilith, wearing that beautiful blue dress. He'd always loved that dress.

He picked up the last picture there, which was one of the four Crane family members the night of Frasier's high school graduation. He let his thumb skim across his wife's face as he sat himself down on their bed.

A sad smile worked its way onto his face. "You weren't supposed to go first," he murmured. "The man's always supposed to go first, you know? Whenever you were havin' a rough day with all that stuff those doctors were giving you, I'd tell you that."

He paused for a moment, his eyes fixated on the features of his wife. Her intelligence was reflected in her eyes. She'd always been so smart, just like the sons she'd tried so hard to raise right.

"You did good, Hester," he said softly, his voice faltering as he said her name.

Rising from his place on the bed, he set the picture back down on the dresser. As he did so, he caught sight of a small notebook on the nightstand next to where Hester used to sleep. He recognized it instantly, of course. Frasier had gifted it to her after she'd been diagnosed, telling her that she could use it to take her mind off of her troubles.

He found himself picking that notebook up now, curious as to what his wife had taken to writing about. Much as he expected, he found not what would be a collection of diary entries, but a 75-page story about some lab intern who accidentally created a new disease. The story took up nearly the whole notebook.

He felt tears prick his eyes as he saw that the last page, dated for the day on which Hester was rushed to the hospital for the final time, had only a half-finished paragraph on it. Below that paragraph, Hester had written a short message bidding her story farewell.

She knew that she wasn't coming back.

She knew.

That alone hurt him most of all.

He slipped his finger behind the page and pushed it out of the way, revealing a fresh new one underneath.

Frasier's words came back to him then. On any other day, Martin wouldn't let his son's shrink talk get so much as a second thought from him. However, today he found himself thinking differently.

Back when he was in Korea, writing had helped him a lot. Whenever things got rough, he'd write home. He'd ask about the weather, how his parents were doing, what sports teams were playing lately, and if his mother had remembered to feed his pet fish. Anything to get his mind off of the horrors of war.

Now, as he fought an all new kind of battle, he found himself reaching for the pen again.

He wasn't quite sure where to begin, so he simply wrote her name.

 _Hester,_

As soon as the tip touched the paper and the ink soaked in, it all came out.

 _Remember when we first met? When I went out to deal with that homicide thing, I expected blood and guts and nothing else. Not once did the possibility of meeting a beautiful woman cross my mind. Of course, it's not every day that a cop gets lucky enough to meet the woman of his dreams next to a chalk outline, so you can't really blame me._

 _I was so nervous when we went on our first date, you and me. We went out to that little ice cream shop and got cones and a Coca-Cola to share. I was worried that it'd be too plain for you._

 _I remember how you told me how ridiculous I was being, thinking that just because you were an intellectual meant that you couldn't enjoy the simple things in life. We went back to that shop a lot after that._

 _And then we got married. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Me shaking in my suit as I waited for you to walk down that aisle. You shocking that minister when you showed up pregnant and waddled on over to us. We had a great life, you and I._

 _I was never that great at expressing my thoughts in person. But somehow, writing them down makes it easier. I know you'd explain it all to me if you were here. You always had an answer when I didn't._

 _But anyways, there's some things I never got to tell you. I wanted to, really, but there never seemed to be a time when I could. Every time I tried, I'd get this lump in my throat that my voice just couldn't get past._

 _You were a great woman, Hester. Best thing that ever happened to me. Even though I was never as smart as you, even though Frasier and Niles went to you and not me, you always made me feel needed and wanted. Every day you'd tell me how much I meant to you and the boys. I appreciated that. A lot._

 _You always waited around for me, too. Whenever I got home late from work, I'd find you up waiting, no matter what time it was. When Niles was going to be born, you told the doctor that he'd have to wait, since his dad was running late at work. When we had that first Thanksgiving with our boys and their wives, you insisted on waiting until I showed up to even consider eating. And when you were in the hospital on that last day and I told you that I had to go and pick Frasier up from the airport, you told me that you'd wait for me._

 _By the time I got there, you were gone to a better place. The doctor said that you told her to tell me that you were still waiting, and you'd never stop._

 _Years ago, when I was about to go out on a dangerous call, you told me to wait for you. I didn't quite know what you meant then. I do now._

 _Sweetheart, if you get there before I do, then I hope you'll stick around a bit. I don't know how long I'll be, but there are some things I have to do first. I want to meet my grandkids and make sure that they know all about you. I want to make sure Frasier and Niles are okay. I can't leave without knowing that they'll be fine without us there._

 _Just don't give up on me. I'll meet you when my job is through. I don't know how long I'll be, but I won't let you down. I'll come home, just like I always did. Until then, when I see you and kiss you again, I'll be loving you._

 _Love,_

 _Me_


End file.
